


The Mighty Fall

by AGoodBean117



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Blood, Blood and Gore, Depression, Gore, Mild Gore, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:27:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25213915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AGoodBean117/pseuds/AGoodBean117
Summary: Roman has depression and hides it well. Until he doesn't.This fic is not for the faint of heart--READ THE TAGS!!! There WILL be a fluffy ending, I just have to find it. I had three chapters finished pre-Remus and pre-Janus-naming, so they've been tweaked for references and naming purposes.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

Roman was familiar with his internal darkness, the void on the inside. Knew how it operated, how it drained his body of energy and his head of ideas. How it waxed and waned with no discernible pattern, made him think that the strangest things were true, valid, logical, despite evidence pointing towards the opposite. Telling him he was worthless, useless, unneeded and unwanted, unloved. He _knew_ the opposite was true. Knew it clear as day, knew it in the way that two plus two was undoubtedly four.

But still.

It held sway on his thoughts, but he was a fantastic actor. He knew when his mood would tank, when it'd be difficult to just get out of bed, when his mind was void of ideas, he could fake it until he made it. Sometimes that meant combining two video ideas he'd had into one, a cop-out to just get _something_ onto the paper. Other times, he was just... stuck. He knew that when he got like this, it frustrated Thomas to no end; he did his best to counteract it. He generated so many ideas when he was brainstorming, it shouldn't be hard to pick _something_ good. Playing video games on camera was his go-to this time around; he hoped it'd jump-start his creative process, get him out of his funk, his spiraling.

But, of course, Thomas chose to play horror games. There's nothing wrong with that, really; he just... couldn't. Not right now. Some of the horror had fed the little voice in his head, made it difficult to ignore. Ignoring the fact that horror made Remus happy, which kept him quiet. Which would be good!

Except that he couldn’t handle it right now.

After the video had been recorded, he told the others he was "going on an adventure" and that he'd be back later. A half lie, but Janus wasn't there to call him out on it. Remus didn’t seem to notice, too wrapped up in thought and excitement to have noticed. Virgil gave him an odd look, but he wrote that off as confusion; after all, who goes on an adventure after playing a bunch of horror games?

Still, he made his way back to his room. Made it into a vast hilly landscape of dragons and castles and adventure and hid within it in his secret place. If one of the others opened the door, they'd be wandering the landscape for hours before ever getting close to finding him. As for his brother, Remus didn’t know where it was, either. Or, at the very least, if he did know, he didn’t intrude.

He curled up within his secret place, a cave with a hidden cavern. This cavern narrowed down into a tunnel, which then widened into a rock chamber. There were pillows and blankets on the floor, a small bed in an alcove in the wall. He'd fought a dragon in the cave system, a dragon whose princess had been kept in here. He kept the room around for when he needed it; the dragon was surprisingly calm. It had been a better adventure of his; the princess had run away from home, it had taken a bit for him to figure that out. He'd convinced her to conquer her kingdom and to rule it herself; one of his favorite adventures.

He dug through the blankets and pillows in the room, searching for something important. Something _sharp_.

He picked up the knife, twirling it in his hands. It was a rather ornate knife, made out of a dragon scale; impenetrable. He'd cleaned it the last time he'd used it; there was nothing to explain what it'd been used for beforehand. Still, there was something else he needed to find before he could start conquering his demons.

He pulled clean bandages out from their home on a small cubby in the wall, one that as easily overlooked if one did not know it was there. He gave them a once-over, made sure he had plenty, before eyeing his legs.

Now, he knew Patton was fretful. That Logan would comment on how this was illogical. How Virgil would go off on some variation on how he was a dumbass. But that's okay. He kept things hidden and did so successfully. He was an actor, sure, but he knew how to apply makeup as well. His only complaint was that white cloth was a pain, and he had to be careful about that. If only a change to black would cause minimum alarm, since then it would be easier. With a wave of his hands, his pants were gone and his usual top changed to a black t-shirt. _Now_ he could start. He rolled up the leg of his boxers, looked at the scars and still-healing lines on his legs, and began.

* * *

He lost track of time, that much he knew. When he heard voices calling for him, he knew he'd been here far too long. He hadn't passed out, he'd just.... been staring at the blood flowing from his new wounds for far too long. He could boot them from the room, but that'd make the others suspicious. He knew Patton would jump on him the moment he left, would nit-pick and fuss until he cracked; and that Logan would help. Virgil, he supposed, would stay out of it. That, or the other would know exactly what had happened and would speak about it. Neither were good options. He wasn’t sure how Janus or Remus would take it, but he really didn’t want to know

The best option would be to clean the wounds, bandage them, and head back to his room. He could just claim he hadn't heard them and that he'd been fighting demons or something. Something to explain the exhaustion and the defeated posture he knew he had. If he moved fast enough, he might get away with it....

But the others were close. He could hear their footsteps echoing in the cave system, now. The dragon that lived here knew not to harm them, but... God, he hoped it hadn't told them where he was.

With that thought, he began bandaging his legs. He didn't have enough for both, but he could summon some more. Or he could put his pants on and deal with it later, assuming he was able to deal with it--

"--e's in here!!!" Patton's voice. Footsteps thundering down the winding tunnel. _Panic._

Pants were on before he realized he was using his magic, knife and bandages hidden away. He could only pray that the blood didn't leak before he got into a bathroom. Perhaps, perhaps--

"Roman!!!" Arms were around him, items hidden just in time. Patton clung to him, shaking like a leaf; just how long had he been gone?

"Dude, what the fuck have you been doing? It's been, like, a week." He blinked, processing Virgil's words. A week? It... didn't _feel_ like a week. "Well, technically it's been five days. But still."

"It's highly unlike you to be gone for such a period of time without at least taking a break of some sort." Logan piped up, leaning on the wall of the chamber's entrance. "Unless we missed that grace period, which is... unlikely. Your dragon friend informed us that you had been here the whole time."

 _Fuck_. How was he getting out of this?

"I-I, uh--"

"I was so worried!!!" Patton wailed, somehow holding him even tighter. "I thought you'd lost to one of your adventure monsters, or, or--" The sound that left his Padre's mouth seared itself into his soul, tore him into two and then tore his halves into confetti. He found himself holding the other closer, world going blurry as he found his usual outfit getting soak with tears.

"Is that--"

He didn't catch the rest of Virgil's words. The world tunneled, narrowed to a pinpoint, then left him in inky blackness.


	2. Chapter 2

Roman swam towards consciousness. It was a slow process, one that took a lot of effort for some strange reason. Panic rose to the forefront of his mind; he needed to wake up, had to be, but he didn’t remember _why_. What had he been doing? Who had he been with? Why did the world feel this dark?

It felt like he was drowning, suffocating in insecurities and uselessness. He didn’t know what was wrong, didn’t understand it, didn’t comprehend it. He had to wake up. He was aware of his fingertips first. He wiggled them, feeling soft fabric underneath. Blankets, possibly bed sheets. Not silk, but still soft; not his room and not his Dreamscape. Perhaps Patton’s bed, maybe the couch? Maybe he was in Logan’s room; it was the closest to his own, after all.

Next came his sense of smell. He could smell cookies, brownies, some cakes; Patton was stress-baking. Poor guy… Guilt seeped into his bones, filled his marrow and oozed into his bloodstream, burning like the heat of a thousand suns. He didn’t know why he felt that guilty, since this was his problem, but he did.

After that came his hearing. Pots and pans clattered in the kitchen; they didn’t sound close, so he likely wasn’t on the couch. He heard the soft clicking of a laptop keyboard, and two sets of breathing. He was in the room with Logan and Virgil, though he wasn’t sure who was on the laptop. He also heard a heartbeat; he was in someone’s lap, or was draped across someone in order for them to keep an eye on him. He… still didn’t know why.

Finally, the feeling in the rest of his body and his sight. The pain…. Now he knew. Understood. His upper legs felt as if they were on fire and were equally as itchy. He couldn’t tell if the itch was because of the marks left or from the bandaging he could feel on them, but it really didn’t matter to him. It was painful and itchy, and he hated it. He must have let out a soft hiss of pain when he’d started feeling it, since the heartbeat he heard increased along with a sharp intake of breath.

“Logan, I think he’s waking up.” The voice was dry and scratchy, as if someone has screamed so loud they’d lost their voice. He knew that voice, though… He was on Virgil’s lap. He supposed Logan was looking things up and didn’t want to balance a laptop on him, but still. Maybe Virgil had volunteered so that Patton could go bake; that made more sense.

“How awake do you think he is?” He could tell that Logan meant ‘should I go get Patton’ on tone alone. Though, there was an undercurrent that he wasn’t used to hearing. He didn’t quite know what it was, but it was on the tip of his tongue…

“He can probably hear us and isn’t responding yet.” He heard the soft click of a laptop being closed just a bit rough, heard a chair scoot back, and footsteps make their way out of the room. Soft click of what he could only assume was a door shutting, and then silence. Silence and Virgil’s heartbeat.

“I know you’re awake. Your breathing’s a bit faster.” He snorted, cracking his eyes open. The room he was in had a dark color palette, light purple on the walls and various posters for metal bands and a few nightmare before Christmas artworks on the walls. The bedspread was that of a galaxy; he was sure Logan would know which one it was.

He hadn’t been expecting to be put in Virgil’s room, though he should have. Virgil’s room was the closest to the downstairs and the kitchen, the closest compromise that Virgil and Logan could have made with a distressed Patton who wanted him in sight 24/7.

His train of thought halted when he caught sight of Virgil’s face. Virgil’s red-rimmed, makeup-shmeared eyes. If he didn’t know any better, he’d have thought the other had just watched a sad Disney movie or had dealt with a bad bout of Thomas’s fears. But this… this was all for _him_.

“’m sorry…” His throat hurt, dry and raspy. He felt a cough coming, knew it would burn his throat worse than a fire ant bite—

Virgil sat him up, held a cup of water to his lips. He didn’t have to be asked; he drank it down, relished in how it felt on his throat.

He looked down at himself once the water was done, fear crawling up his spine like spiders. His legs… He’d done a number on them without realizing. They were bandaged to high hell, some of them having blood that leaked through the bandaging. Either he hadn’t been out for very long, or he’d been very, _very_ stupid. He couldn’t tell. His boxers had been changed, and his usual top had been swapped for a comfy shirt. It wasn’t his. Based on the fact that he was in Virgil’s room, he could only assume it belonged to him.

“How… How long was I out?” He hated how the words tasted on his tongue. He… needed to know, though. Was he going to have to hand-stitch something shut again? Virgil laid him down again, pushing hair off of his forehead. There was that… emotional undercurrent again, in Virgil’s eyes. What was it???

“You’ve been out for about half an hour.” Shit. He was bleeding badly, what had he been thinking–

“Half an–”

“We put the bandages on a few minutes ago.” _Double Shit_. He’d have to stitch at least one cut shut, maybe more. There was no way in hell Patton would let him do it himself, though he knew that his Padre would cry if he even so much as implied that it’d have to be stitched to stop bleeding.

“… _Shit_.” He pretended not to see the confused look Virgil gave him; he didn’t want to explain that right now. Not now, not ever. He noticed the pots and pans cease their banging. Heard the footsteps charging up the stairs. The cavalry is here.

The door was opened surprisingly gently, followed by the appearance of Logan and Patton. Logan looked like absolute shit. Hair a mess, glasses crooked, tie loosened and askew, eyes red-rimmed. He’d even go as far as to say that Logan’s hands were incredibly shaky. But if Logan was bad, Patton was worse.

Patton was covered in flour. Poor bastard looked as if the universe had collapsed and taken all of its happiness with it, leaving a single Patton-shaped soul behind. Patton was still actively leaking tears, making the dusting of flour that coated his face clump up and solidify. He’d never seen Patton look this bad, not even when Thomas had been dumped or the initial duel between Janus and Thomas over Thomas’s sexuality and if they should reveal it to his parents.

“Roman…” God, the number of things he’d give to have never heard Patton sound so upset… Guilt coiled in his belly, in his very essence. He _should not have been caught._

“Roman, kiddo… Why… Why didn’t…” His breath caught in his throat. Patton rubbed at tears, trembling like the lone leaf attached to an Oak Tree in August, trying to hold on during wind gust after strong wind gust.

He did the only thing he could think of; He held his arms open, eyes pleading with his beloved Padre for a hug. Patton dove in, holding him so tightly that he was certain it’d take the Jaws of Life to get out of it. His shirt was quickly soaked in silent tears, and his world went blurry. His face felt wet. He closed his eyes, hugged Patton back as tight as he could, and let his own tears overflow and overwhelm him. He felt a second, then a third set of arms join the sob-fest, felt new wet spots on his shirt. Absently, he heard gibberish in the loudness of the others. It was repetitive, trying to say something…. It shook him to the very core to realize that that was _his_ voice. _His_ distraught, emotion-filled, raw, scratchy voice. His attempts at an apology.

He lost track of time, of how hard he clung to Patton. He just… wanted to be held, was all. Or, rather, that’s what he told himself. He wasn’t ready to come to terms with what he’d done, how it had affected and would continue to affect the others. He hadn’t meant to hurt them, just to make himself better. To fix himself.

Logan was the first to let go. The other had mumbled something about getting Patton’s cake before it burned, and left the room.

Virgil left next, claiming he needed to set something up for later before darting out of the room. That left himself and Patton. Patton, his padre, the one he would have to explain this to. His head hurt, energy sapped from his bones and pulled into that void in his heart that ached with sorrows untold.

“Kiddo….” Patton mumbled softly, pulling away solely to sit on the bed. He rested his head on the other’s shoulder, arms wrapped gently around the other. “Why’d you do it?”

He… didn’t know how to answer that. He didn’t want to be honest, but there was no good answer to this. He took a deep breath; he had to give Patton an answer. He’d tell the truth.

“I… I’m… I felt as if… I needed it. To be good at what I do.” He felt Patton stiffen up, but he kept speaking. He had to, now that he’d started; if he stopped, he’d never continue.

“It’s calming, usually. I-I don’t do it very often, not even when I’m in a creative rut, just… Just when I’m feeling… numb, I guess. It helps jump-start feeling things. I-I guess this time, it didn’t work…” He chuckled wetly, freeing an arm to rub at his eyes. “I guess I’m just a real _shit_ Prince, can’t even keep myself safe. At least I saved some okay ideas to give Logan so that Thomas can have some semblance of being on time….”

Did he hurt Thomas, too? He really, _really_ hoped he hadn’t, but he didn’t know for sure. And he hadn’t even talked about how broken he was yet, the inadequacies and fears that threatened him every time he brought his ideas to the table. The sheer worthlessness, the knowledge that he was not and would never be good enough tied with the knowledge that with Remus, there was at least a semi-suitable replacement for him should he just disappear—

“I’m sorry, Roman.” His head snapped up, thoughts interrupted and confusion coursing through his veins. Patton was– was _sorry_? “I should’ve noticed something, should’ve helped you better–”

“The only one who should be apologizing is _me_ , Patton. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Pat pulled him close, held him tightly. In the back of his head, he wondered if Patton was trying to convince himself that they’d both be okay.

“I still should have tried something. You’re important to me, to all of us.”

“I know. Why do you think I kept it from you in the first place?”

Before Patton could answer, Logan made his way back into the room.

“The cake’s cooling. I also took the liberty of putting the excess cookie dough away for now.” He didn’t miss the way Logan eyed him, how those eyes held emotions that the other would likely never admit to. He didn’t like it; the expression didn’t suit him. Logan deserved to be happy; or, at the very least, with the neutral expression that usually expressed happiness.

“I can go see if Virgil’s done setting up–”

“No need.” Virgil poked his head out from behind Logan, padding into the room. “Everything’s set up and ready to go.” Virgil, at the very least, kept the external concern to a minimum. “Roman, do you think you can stand? We’d like to move you into Patton’s room; we set up a bed for you and everything.”

“… You what now?” He’d been fine before. Sure, he’d never hurt himself this badly, but still.

“… We made you a bed in Patton’s room? Now, come on, can you stand?” So he’d heard that right. He didn’t need to be babied, but… He glanced at Patton. His Padre looked more worried than he’d ever seen, to the point where he could see the stress wrinkles forming. He’d sleep there, he decided. At least for the night.

“I should be able to stand.” He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, ignoring how the ignored pain flared up and burned. The movement alone had likely cause some wounds that had clotted shut to re-open. “I’ll be fine.” Patton stood up, Logan darting across the room to be on his other side. Worrywarts, all of them.

He stood up, pain spiking so badly that his knees buckled. Yes, he was physically capable of standing, but his pain tolerance wouldn’t handle it. Logan and Patton caught him, Virgil running over to try and help.

“Hurts–” The strain in his voice tasted bitter and vile. He sounded so… so weak. so useless.

“We’ll move you quickly, hon.” Patton lifted him up, with Logan’s help. Virgil darted out of the room; the sound of a door opening in the hall made it obvious as to what he was doing. He was carried quickly out of the room, walking a ways down the hall before entering Patton’s room.

He had always liked Patton’s room, enjoyed how it made him feel comfortable and safe. As if by simply hiding in it, that nothing could hurt him. Now, though, it felt oppressive and bleak. As if the joy, the light, the hopes and dreams, had been stolen from it. It was his fault, His fault. _His fault_.

Patton and Logan set him on Patton’s bed, made sure he was comfortable before arguing over who was to keep an eye on him first. He didn’t focus, too distracted by the pain in his legs. He noticed some more blood seeping through the bandages; he ought to tell them, but what little energy he had left had been sapped by being moved.

Virgil climbed up onto the bed with him, laid down next to him. He took the offered invitation, laying down and resting his head on Virgil’s chest. Listened to the heartbeat, the breathing, let it lull him into a sense of calm. As long as one of them was okay, the rest of them would be, too.

He didn’t notice Logan and Patton’s eventual silence, nor did he notice them leave. He listened to Virgil’s heartbeat, using it to count sheep before he lost track and had to start again and again until he slipped into the sleep his body so desperately needed.


	3. Chapter 3

Virgil watched Roman slip into sleep, watched the stress and pain slide into an uneasy calm.

He didn’t know what to do about this, didn’t have experience with this kind of issue. What hurt the most was that he didn’t know how to help, didn’t know how to protect from this. He could leech some of the anxiety, the self-loathing, the pain, but he wasn’t strong enough to take all of it.

He wanted to believe that this wasn’t his fault, wanted to take the lie and run so far with it that he’d start believing it. But he knew it wasn’t true. He knew how often he’d shut down Roman’s ideas, how often the playful banter stopped feeling so playful and started feeling like fighting, how often he’d not listened to Roman when the other had tried to speak about feelings. Guilt pooled in his gut, bitter and nauseating.

He had to stay strong, though. He knew that neither Patton nor Logan were strong enough to weather this without a rock to cling to. He could hear Pat in the kitchen, could only guess that his padre was attacking some kind of dough, and could hear Logan pacing in the hall. They needed him to be strong, to help them clear their heads, to help them breathe rather than flounder and drown.

Did Remus know? Did Janus?

It wasn’t like they could help, but if they found out then he’d need to be strong for them, too. Especially for Remus.

If it meant things would get better, he’d push his feelings to the side to help the others stay steady.

* * *

Logan paced in the hallway, going from the stairs to the end of the hall and back again.

He wasn’t sure what to do. Thomas hadn’t encountered anything like this before, and as such he wasn’t sure what to do. Did Thomas have issues he was hiding that were affecting Roman, or were these issues Roman’s and Roman’s alone?

With these thoughts in mind, his pacing ended in front of Virgil’s door. He’d need to ask Thomas how he felt, especially since the rest of them weren’t equipped to handle this. Still, he could afford to tamp down his feelings to help the others. He didn’t lack emotions, but he could mute them if he needed to.

Patton needed a shoulder to cry on, someone to tell him that it would be okay based on even the tiniest chance that it would be. Virgil needed someone to hold, someone to reassure him that it wasn’t his fault no matter what the anxious side could come up with that counteract that point. Remus and Janus would needwd to be told, and need the support as well.

The others needed him to be as he usually was; to be cool and calm and logical.

He could handle his own emotional mess once they were dealt with.

* * *

Patton had gone back to the dough with a vengeance, having swapped from cookies to bread before running upstairs.

He kneaded his emotions into it, hoping beyond hope that this loaf wouldn’t be ruined by the tears he’d accidentally kneaded into the mix. Still, lots of people said that bread tasted better when you were putting your emotions into it; he’d see if that was true, he supposed.

He knew that Roman hadn’t been fully honest, knew that the creative side’s self-preservation instincts had kicked in to try and protect him. He may be the source of Thomas’s emotions, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew about Thomas’s self-image issues, had hit the brunt of those emotions more than once. But he’d never once considered where they’d stemmed from. Guilt weighed him down like a sack of bricks, like having your feet put in a concrete block and then being tossed into the ocean.

Of _course_ Roman would be the one faced with the brunt of Thomas’s insecurities, about how he looked and if people would like him. Virgil helped, but it was Patton who had to pass the brunt of the emotions along. He was the Hub, the center of the web that was Thomas’s emotions and morals. He knew where Thomas’s morals were blurry, what the rules were, what the exception to the rules were, what would make their host crumple to the floor and cry unabashed tears of joy. He knew what memories would make them both happy and which would make them both sad, but the emotions he wasn’t equipped to handle were the insecurities, the what-ifs, the spikes of self-loathing that left him crying and reeling.

Why had it taken him this long to figure out that the self-loathing piece of the web, the one where the emotions went to and rarely came back, was a piece that Roman had taken? In hindsight, it made sense, but he’d hurt his creative side.

If taking Thomas’s self-loathing and keeping it in him was what it took to help Roman get better, he’d do it. He had to; Roman deserved to be happy.

* * *

Janus woke from his nap, sensing the cloud that had settled over the mindscape.

He could taste it, finding many emotions. Guilt, so much _guilt_. The bitter taste filled his mouth and made him gag. He could also taste all the lies that were fluttering through the mindscape, sickly sweet and far too easy to swallow. He ran his tongue over his fangs, trying to quell the sense of unease that swept through him like a tidal wave.

What the hell were the others up to?

He knew it wasn’t any of the so-called dark sides, knew that they’d never cause drama that managed to get into his room with the door shut. Sure, Lust and Remy were drama queens, but at least a third of that was an act. And Remus didn’t tend to lie.

With a groan, he slid out of the warm cocoon of his blankets and made his way to the door. He didn’t bother with his usual attire, didn’t care that the hole-y sweatpants and loose tank-top would get more confusion than a fish swimming in the air; he was on a mission to see what the hell the issue was, and resolve it.

He left his room, bare feet making echos in the hallway. His room was still with the dark sides, even though he’d been revealed to Thomas already; technically, it meant he ought to be a light side since he wasn’t in the dark and hidden from their host, but still. That could come later.

He passed Remus’s door, knocking gently before continuing towards the light sides. Remus poked his head out, sighing quietly at the sight of Janus’s attire. The dark creativity followed behind him, slipping out into the hall and following him, silent as a ghost.

He’d found the door easily enough. It was definitely coming from the light sides, the emotional haze pouring in from under the door like smoke from a fire with nowhere to go but down. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to open it, but the longer he waited the worse it seemed to get. With a deep breath, he put his hand on the doorknob and pushed it open.

Today was going to be a _long_ day.


End file.
